Picking up nails while listening to the Dear Hunter is quite pleasant. Not that I did that today, I burned through their discography a couple of days ago.
I am still jobless so I have been assigned a few tasks to keep me busy. One of those tasks has been cleaning up the nails left over from burning the irreparably damaged roof that has been sitting in our field all these years. It is actually quite pleasant and gives me an excuse to listen to my mp3 player for extended periods. Which now gives me an excuse to gush about the Dear Hunter. Lucky me.
I must say, I do quite enjoy their music. The juxtaposition of business and propriety against deep conflicting emotions is quite appealing. I suppose that may be common to any work about falling in love with a prostitute. It very theatrical. Kind of like Moulin Rouge. Except that I like it even better than Moulin Rouge.
I had a delightful time camping on the May 2-4 weekend. Highlights included some excellent games of Magic, absconding with 50 cent Pokemon figures from the flea market and some awfully bizarre negotiations for better gear in a D&D campaign that never got played. The figures look quite handsome on my desk. I think the Ivysaur is my favourite. Oh yes, and oatmeal.
Delicious, delicious oatmeal.
And now for some heavy handed exposition. I dislike alcohol. Now, I could leave at that and we could all go on our merry way. To each his own, right? Well I shall take it one step further.
I dislike other people drinking alcohol. Herein lies a problem as I cannot simply bask in a glow of smug superiority as my friends stumble around in a drunken stupor. This used to be the case but experience has brought that to an end. I am not amused by most drunken antics; I am far more likely to be disgusted, annoyed or uncomfortable. Getting smashed is not my idea of a good time, nor is hanging around with those who are. Being of age only exacerbates this problem as my peers do not even have to try to hide their consumption. I certainly does not help that the concept of moderation seems entirely lost on most people I have seen drink. I am sure somebody (probably Trish) will make a joke about me being a pansy for this or something. I assure you, I will not find it funny.
Hmm, that was awfully serious. Perhaps some comic relief is in order. Here is part of a log from when I was playing Crawl.
Ever so classy,